"Scarcely two miles east of here," Alistair says, his voice high and mocking, full of pageantry. A rather good impression, all things considered. "Easy to find! Impossible to miss! Impossible to miss. Impossible to miss, my left arse cheek." Unfortunately, Talvinder is inclined to agree with him at the moment. Morrigan had made it sound so simple as they left her at their campsite, accompanied by Sher and Abarie for protection. So simple that even a child could find Flemeth's hut. And here they are now, well over two hours later, certainly more than two miles traversed, still picking their way through the marsh, no hut, no Flemeth in sight.
"The Darkspawn changed the terrain when they came through here," Sav says, but Tali can tell she's making a bit of an excuse. She doesn't want to admit that they're turned around. Besides, the ground is less blighted here than in other places they've seen on their way back south. There's no blackened grass, no mold choking the life from the plants, no viscous, oily sheen to the water. The wilted and miserable landscape is far more melancholic and less beautiful than it was when last they came through here, and the marsh birds have been driven off, but things still live, even if barely.
"We should retrace our steps," Leliana offers. Tali can see Sav grimacing at the thought, her stomach twisting at the idea of losing yet more time to backtracking.
"There's no need. She said two miles east. We had to turn north around the bog for about a half mile, and that diverted us west, and then we came back down south a half mile, and had to make up the lost ground, and now—" If only Tali could make a map appear in her mind's eye. That would make everything so much easier. Instead, she's left with a spinning head and a pinprick headache of stress and fear and anxiety behind her forehead.
"Savreen is right." She's glad that Ranjit, at least, has been keeping track well enough to have any opinion on what Sav's just said whatsoever. "Our path has had to change. It is possible that Morrigan knows of a way through the bog directly, but we do not. Regardless, we should be nearing the location of the hut now, from the other side of our approach." Alistair meets Tali's eyes with an expression of great dubiousness and doubt. He's just as lost as she is.
"Cheer up, my friends," Zevran offers, squatting to pluck at a mostly living flower, slightly wilted. He holds it up against the sun, watching how the light filters through its petals. "There are only two witches in this swamp, and we know the location of one. We will find our quarry sooner or later."
"Are you not trained in tracking, elf?" A little terse, Sten's question is nevertheless a good one. Tali can see the Qunari clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, as though he seeks something to grab onto and hold. "You are an assassin, after all." With a shrug, Zevran stands, tucking the flower behind his ear, muted red against ash blonde.
"Indeed, I am trained in tracking down my quarries. But between the Darkspawn and the recent rains, there is nothing here to track. There has not been since we entered the Wilds." A fresh wave of grumbles emanates from Sten's chest, but he is satisfied.
"I recognize this place." Sav's voice, sudden and urgent, makes Tali's head snap in her direction.
"You do?" It's not that Tali doubts her, she just can't remember the place in the same way. It's a swamp, or a marsh, or—she's still not sure exactly what the difference is, come to think of it, but it all starts to look the same after a while of being lost in it. But Sav nods. She points at the crumbled remains of a statue, Tevene in style, mostly submerged beneath the weed-choked water.
"That statue of…Dumat, I think? We passed it as Morrigan led us here the first time." Tali looks at the statue, really stares at it, narrowing her eyes in concentration. No matter what she tries, she cannot remember ever having seen it before.
"Are you sure?" Alistair asks, voicing the same thoughts in Talvinder's mind.
"Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't have said anything otherwise."
"Alright, alright! I just thought—"
"What's that, over there?" As Ranjit calls out softly, he points to a brownish lump in the middle distance.
"I take it back." The sheepishness in Alistair's voice is offset slightly by the tension of the moment, but it is funny nevertheless, Tali has to admit. "Sorry for ever doubting you, oh fearless leader Savreen."
Sav doesn't respond. She's too busy paying attention to their surroundings, her hands on the hilts of her swords.
"Be on your guard," is all she says. They are all silent, now. None of them wants to be the reason that Flemeth knows they are coming. Closer and closer they draw, treading as lightly and delicately as is possible. The hut comes into view, exactly as Tali remembers it, small and steep and old, older than should be possible, made of wattle and daub and stone. For a moment, she thinks that perhaps they have made it without alerting Flemeth, or that Flemeth isn't here. Then she hears a familiar voice from behind her, and she wheels about, heels digging into the soft ground beneath them, sword already drawn.
"And so, you return," Flemeth says, "and Death follows you still. Does he come as your friend or your foe, I wonder?"
Knowing everything that she knows now, Tali is surprised to see Flemeth as small and bent as she was when last they were here. She almost expected the old witch to appear larger, more frightening, more befitting of her storied reputation as the scourge of the Wilds. Instead, Flemeth looks the same as they day they fist met. Her skin is still the same warm brown as Morrigan's, though softer and far more wrinkled than her daughter's, spotted by age. Her hair is gray, somewhat frizzled, coming through in lighter shocks of white at the temples. No, perhaps not the same. Perhaps older, if that is even possible within the span of a month or so.
"I see that lovely Morrigan has at last found someone willing to dance to her tune. Such enchanting music she plays, would not you agree, Talvinder of House Cousland?" Tali swallows, heavy and hard, but the lump of fear in her chest and throat will not go down easy. It roils in her stomach, and she can only stare at Flemeth. "Have you nothing to say, child? I seem to remember a much more talkative young woman at our last meeting. Come, come. Where are your manners?"
"I—"
"We know, Flemeth." Relief floods through Tali. She is immensely grateful for Savreen's interruption. "We know about the ritual, about your secret."
"My secret?" Flemeth laughs once, sharp and short. It is then that Tali notices just how much she sounds like Morrigan. "Which one, I wonder? Old Flemeth has many."
"She told you which one." Ranjit, it is clear, does not brook with Flemeth's tone, or her dissembling. "The ritual." His insistence, though, only makes Flemeth's smile widen. There is something, again, so very sharp about that expression. It makes Tali feel uneasy.
"Now, what has Morrigan told you, hmm? What little plan has she hatched this time?"
"Do you deny it, then?" Sav asks, hands twitching once more towards the hilts of her swords.
"What a question. Denial, acceptance—depending on how one looks at them, they are the same, are they not? Some aspect of fate brings us all wheeling forward. To deny that or to accept it, it makes no difference. The wheel turns, regardless."
"That isn't an answer." Perhaps Tali will regret speaking up later. Perhaps, later, she will wonder why, oh why did she interrupt the Witch of the Wilds? But for now, she is irritated. "Tell us the truth," she says, and even she is surprised by the sternness in her voice, and so she adds: "Please." Another smile stretches Flemeth's lips wide.
"I see you have not forgot your manners after all. And yet you ask for the truth. The truth! As if it were nothing at all. A speck of dust in one's palm!" Flemeth approaches Tali, and Tali remembers the feeling of the witch's fingers, gripping tight to her jaw, holding her in place as she spoke of death. It sends a shiver down Tali's spine. But Flemeth appears to have other matters on her mind. She pauses, eyes trained far off into the distance, as though seeking the horizon, or even something beyond it. "No, no. Far better the lie. Far better the comfort of blankets and shadows and a mother's love." Tali cannot help herself. She never can, when she is around Flemeth, it seems. Her many, endless questions, her frustration, her anger on Morrigan's behalf: they all come together, a tide, a torrent, seeking escape from her lips.
"And was it a lie? Was it always a lie? That you cared for her?"
Silence. Flemeth stares at Tali. She does not break the gaze between them even when she asks her next question.
"Morrigan wishes my grimoire, is that it?"
"Your daughter—" Savreen's voice cuts between Tali and Flemeth, allowing Tali to step back two, three footfalls. She's gotten far too close to the witch, or the witch is too close to her—she can't seem to recall having moved— "wishes to know if you intend to take her body for your own." Another smile from Flemeth, this one all teeth and no mirth.
"Oh, I do like that. Go on. Ask the next question. Or will you make it a statement? I am dying to know."
"Morrigan knows how you extend—" It is at this moment that Flemeth interrupts Savreen in turn, almost snarling.
"She does, does she? The question is, do you? Do you know?" For a moment, Tali thinks that something green flashes in Flemeth's eyes, the color of veridium. "Ah, but it is an old, old story, one that has been told in many forms and many shapes over the centuries. 'Tis one that I have heard before, and even told." Flemeth's words muddle in Tali's mind, and she can't help but frown. It doesn't make sense, somehow. Something doesn't fit, and she cannot figure out what, exactly, it is. "Let us skip right to the ending, though, shall we? Do you slay the old wretch as Morrigan bids? Or does the tale take a different turn? To whose tune do you dance?"
It feels, in the most indescribable sense, that there is something deeply ancient present, with them. It makes the hairs on the back of Tali's neck, on her arms and legs, stand on end. They have no hope of truly defeating whatever it is that is inside Flemeth—it is folly even to try, and she knows that, now. A black pit of yawning despair, of fear and emptiness, stretches out in front of her, and at the end of it all, the embrace of a mother, her mother, Flemeth—
No. What is happening? Tali shakes her head rapidly, trying to dislodge the strange thoughts that have found their way into her skull. Flemeth, it would seem, smiles at this, a hairsbreadth away from laughing. Something is very wrong. There is more here than they understand, that much Tali knows. Death follows you, walks in your footsteps. Whose death, she wonders? Her own?
Savreen, though, is not about to bend to Flemeth's persuasion.
"We told Morrigan—and yourself, when we left this place—that we would protect her. With our lives, if needs demanded them. We have no choice any longer but to meet that promise. It is an oath."
"No choice! An interesting concept. There remains power even in the most hopeless of choices. That which lays before you now might be one such choice."
"Your tongue may weave many a web, witch," Sten's voice rumbles across them all, vibrating Tali's bones and jarring her from her strange daze, "but it shall not ensnare us." He draws his sword, the first among their group to do so after Tali, and each of the others follows suit, starting with Zevran and ending with Savreen. Tali is left, staring into Flemeth's eyes, her sword heavy and almost impotent in her nervous grip.
"You think that you are the first to come, full of righteousness and bluster? Far from it. And you will not be the last, either." Once more, she meets Tali's gaze. "I do think myself an optimist. Secretly I hope that not all mortals hurtle so recklessly toward their fates, yet always it is so." Heavily, she sighs. "Alas. It is a dance poor Flemeth knows well. Let us see if she remembers the steps. Though be warned—you will earn what you take. I would have it no other way."
Flemeth's movements are unnaturally quick. She lashes out with a hand wreathed in energy, sending Zevran and Leliana both sprawling, tumbling across the grass. With her other hand, she sends a bolt of light toward Alistair and Tali. It collides with their shields, thrown up at the last moment, but Tali can feel herself sliding backwards, heels digging into the dirt. She tightens her grip on her sword, lest she drop it. Sav, Ranjit, and Sten remain just in front of Flemeth, but not for long. Almost like mist, Flemeth's shape changes, rippling out into the form of massive wings. She takes to the sky before the transformation is even complete, launching herself over the group of Wardens and their allies. By the time her foot alights on the ground once more, it is complete.
It is just as Morrigan had warned them. Flemeth stands before them, a dragon, massive and greyish purple in color, her still amber eyes glaring at them from a viciously toothed and spiked skull.
"I didn't think she'd be that big," Alistair says, and his voice is so small, coming from the burly warrior, that it makes Tali stare at him. "What? Morrigan said she'd be a dragon, but—" Before he can finish, Flemeth lets out a roar that feels as though it splits the very air, cleaving it in two in Tali's own head. Pain lances through her ears and she claps her hands up and over them, wincing and grimacing. It lasts what feels like forever, and when Flemeth does stop her screeching at last, there is still a shrill and painful ringing in Tali's mind. Slightly dazed, she shakes her head, trying to regain her footing.
It is at that moment that Flemeth's tail smashes into her, knocking Tali back and forcing the air from her lungs. She stumbles, wheezing, but doesn't fall. Instead, she looks up into Flemeth's face, watches the dragon as she stretches her mouth open wide, and sees, deep down in her throat, a blue-white spark of flame. Even as Tali's head still swims, she tries to force herself to awareness.
"Alistair!" Tali yells, throwing herself to the ground and rolling under Flemeth's head. "Please tell me you know how to do that thing!" Her sword is no match for the scales that armor Flemeth's hide, and no matter how hard she tries to hit the dragon, her blade leaves only small dents and scratches.
"I need time!" Alistair yells back, slightly frantic. He, too, seems to be finding that his sword is less than ideal. Only Sten really seems to be having luck, the massive power of his swings and his heavy greatsword making Flemeth roar in frustration and pain. She swings her head back around toward the Qunari, and her tail soars toward Tali once again. This time, though, she ducks, and when she finds herself under the dragon's belly, Tali doesn't wait. She scrambles forward, head bowed, and strikes out at the vulnerable skin at the joints of Flemeth's legs. Finally, she manages to do something. Flemeth howls, another shrieking, air-splitting sound, and blood rushes to the rent skin of her foreleg, making her stumble slightly.
"Time is a little short, here," Tali says when she can remember to respond to Alistair. "Hurry up, please!" Nodding, Alistair reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small glowing phial, blue in color. Lyrium. He'd told Tali he would need it to dispel Flemeth's magic—she had even watched Morrigan grudgingly give him some of her own stock from within her pack—and yet Tali still flinches at the sight. She doesn't want to think about it. Instead, she turns back to the task at hand. Alistair can handle himself, after all, and this is part of the plan. As she tries for another leg, Flemeth stands, up on her hind legs, raising her body up to her full height. It's only when she starts plummeting down, belly toward the ground, that Tali realizes what the witch is trying to do.
Her wrist twinges, making her cry out in pain as she hits the grass, but at least she isn't under the dragon's body as it smashes into the ground. Tali watches Sav and Ranjit both stumble, and then notices Zevran and Leliana, hanging onto the roof of Flemeth's hut, bows strung. So that's where they've gotten to. Sten lets out a roar of exertion, bringing his sword slashing through Flemeth's wing, and Tali can't see Alistair anywhere.
"Alistair?" She screams his name, eyes darting everywhere, searching for him. Panic begins to rise in her chest, because if Tali can't see him, where could he be but crushed under the titanic body of the dragon? Sav launches herself back towards Flemeth, taking note of Sten's move and targeting the dragon's wings instead of the scaled and heavily armored parts of her body. The wound on Flemeth's foreleg clearly troubles her, sending caustic dragon blood puddling and pooling out on the heavily waterlogged ground, and the rips in her wings now slow her and keep her grounded. But without disrupting the spell that keeps her in this form, Talvinder is certain they have no true hope of defeating her. She redoubles her search for the only one among them who can ensure their plan goes off correctly, and her voice rips from her throat with frantic fear.
"Alistair!"
There's a splash from behind her, and a very waterlogged Alistair crawls from the marshy pool, either having leapt there to avoid the weight of Flemeth's body or having been thrown there by the force of her impact. The panic in Tali's chest recedes, but her heart still beats ferociously, to the point that she can feel her pulse within her eyelids. She stumbles to his side and grabs the corner of his breastplate, holding him steady for a moment. Holding herself steady, too.
"I thought—"
"I did too, for a minute." He's breathless as he answers, and Tali notices the bright blue spark of lyrium draught dripping down his jaw, his chin, his throat, along with the water from the marsh. It makes her stomach turn with anxiety when she notices the bright blue ringing his irises, the way his eyes seem to tremble and his pupils are blown wide and black. Flemeth roars again, and there's a searing heat that ripples from her mouth. She can't spit fire properly, though, not with Sten and Ranjit and Sav sticking so close to her body, too close for her jaws to reach. Tali should be over there, should be fighting with them, she knows she should, but she has to reach out, she has to touch Alistair's arm and make sure he is, in fact, alright.
"If this doesn't work," he says, grimacing, bringing his own hand to Tali's for a brief heartbeat before remembering himself, "I'd rather be eaten than burnt to a crisp." It's a grim joke, but it steadies Tali. They have a plan. It is time to execute it.
"What do you need?" Alistair looks at Flemeth, rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck.
"I need to get closer. But I need a few moments to set the incantation." Tali nods, hefting her sword once more.
"She's distracted with the others. You should be able to get under her."
It's tricky, moving outside of Flemeth's line of sight, making sure that she doesn't notice the two of them while they dance around the dragon's stomping feet and swiping tail and snapping jaw. There are a few close calls, but Tali is able to get close enough on the left side eventually to land another blow to Flemeth's soft underbelly. The dragon screams in pain and turns its attention to Tali, allowing Alistair to slip under its body.
Tali stares up into Flemeth's eyes once more, trying to hold her attention. In the very edge of her view, she can see Sav stumbling backwards, her nose bloodied by a blow from Flemeth's wing. There is something strange in Flemeth's dragon eyes, something that Tali doesn't think can be chalked up to her newly reptilian form. It seems almost to be resignation. She isn't done fighting, though, not as she lashes out with her massive teeth, biting down at where Tali stands. Hurriedly, Tali scrambles out of the way. It doesn't escape her notice that the exact spot where she had been standing is churned up by the force of Flemeth's blow, but there's no time to dwell, not as she slashes out with her sword once more.
Unexpectedly, the blade lands on the tender skin of Flemeth's eyelid, and once more the dragon screeches, screaming in agony. Revulsion lances through Tali at the sight of the blood and gore, at the sensation of her blade slicing into the gelatinous substance of Flemeth's eye. Guilt, too: a strange feeling to have when fighting for one's life. Flemeth flails, head lashing about through the air, and Tali wonders—too late—if this was the right thing to do, after all. As she does, though, Ranjit and Sten both slice through the delicate tissue of Flemeth's wings again, grounding the dragon permanently and practically immobilizing her. And then, beneath her belly, a soft white light flickers into being.
Tali backs up unsteadily, nearly tripping and falling backwards more than once. She watches as Flemeth writhes, the light growing in intensity and power. Alistair's voice rings out, shouting words in a language that almost sounds like Dalish. For a brief moment, Talvinder isn't sure that their plan will work. It doesn't seem that the magic of Flemeth's form is being dispelled at all, not as she continues to screech and roar, little ineffectual bursts of flame coming from between her jaws. Then her form shifts into mist again, blurring slowly at the edges. Before too long, a woman kneels in front of them all again, bloodied and panting.
When the glow of Alistair's incantation fades, Flemeth is left as small as ever. Tali does not look at the eye that bleeds, does not look at the way Flemeth raises a shaking hand to cover it, does not try to look underneath the palm that quickly grows wet and black with blood.
"And so it goes," Flemeth says, her voice a whispering croak. "The boy is a Templar, then, and I have saved the very person who would bring me to my doom. Fate does have a sense of humor after all, does it not?"
"It doesn't need to be this way, Flemeth." Tali is surprised by the gentleness in Sav's voice as her cousin limps forward, dropping to her own knees in front of the witch. "It doesn't have to end here. You could let Morrigan go." Flemeth lets out a small, breathless laugh.
"There are more forces at work here than you can ever understand, Warden." It seems almost as though Flemeth might have something more to say, but then she closes her remaining eye, breathing in deeply. Her body shudders, as though she sees something far off, and Tali can feel it again, the feeling of indescribable age and ancient power. A smile stretches across Flemeth's face. "But you are mistaken. This is no end." Before Savreen can stop her, Flemeth wrests one of her swords from her grip. Zevran shouts from the top of the hut and as Flemeth raises the blade, Leliana lets loose an arrow.
The arrow and the sword find their marks at the same moment. In shock, Tali stares at Flemeth, at the sword protruding from the witch's own chest, just next to Leliana's arrow.
"Excellent aim," the witch says as spittle and blood collect at the corners of her mouth. "Until we meet again." Her eyes, the one amber and the other bloodied, meet Talvinder's as her voice lapses into silence.
Flemeth doesn't fall so much as recede, sinking to the ground. Nobody moves. Tali hardly lets herself breathe, her mind too full of the witch's final words. Everything is silent. It's just Flemeth, lying there, as though she's decided to rest in the fresh air. The first person to move is Alistair, whose knees give out, sending him to the ground. Wordlessly, Tali rushes to him, hooking her fingers under his shoulder straps to keep him upright. Anything not to have to look at Flemeth's body a moment longer.
"What's wrong?" She can hear Zevran and Leliana sliding from the roof and leaping to the ground, and then their footfalls on grass and dirt, louder as they grow closer. Alistair shakes his head, his eyes unfocused.
"Haven't done that in ages," he mutters, voice low. "Don't ever let—let me do that again." He brings a hand to Tali's shoulder, holding onto her and holding himself upright. In response, she reaches her arm to brace his side, holding her palm against his side as she examines him.
"Can you stand? Do you want to keep sitting?" There's no more blue light in his eyes: in its place they look hollow and worn through, dimmer than they had been before. But they are thankfully brown once again. Tali is faintly aware of the others examining Flemeth. She doesn't want to join them. If she has to think about the witch's final moments or her cryptic words or the way there was almost certainly something else there with them all, she'll go mad.
"Did'y see the way she—she just—" Alistair's words slur together slightly, and the slight tremble in his hand when he gestures vaguely in the direction of Flemeth's body doesn't seem to be entirely from the spent lyrium.
"Yeah."
"Andraste's fucking tits."
The pyre is Sten's idea. It takes some time to gather enough dry brush to keep the fire lit long enough to catch, but when it does, it licks at Flemeth's body with a strange hunger that unsettles Savreen. She doesn't watch as it consumes the witch. Instead, she enters the hut, trying to ignore the sight of the fire, trying harder not to think about the place by the hearth where she had lain sleeping, barely a month hence. She turns her back on the hearth, busying herself with looking for Flemeth's remaining grimoire. The door creaks, loud in the stillness as it opens behind her.
"Morrigan will be waiting for us," Tali says, her voice unsteady and quiet. "We should…we should head back." Savreen doesn't answer, not right away. She's too busy thumbing through a book, trying to discern its nature: journal or spellbook? And will she be able to tell the difference? "What are you looking for?" Journal, Savreen decides. There are no spells she can see at least, though she isn't a mage. So maybe there are spells, and she simply can't tell. Perhaps this search is pointless.
"Flemeth asked if Morrigan wanted her grimoire," she says, placing the journal back down and turning around. There's a chest in the corner, ancient-looking wood set with tarnished panels of silver. She hasn't looked there, yet, and so she walks over to it and kneels, gingerly lifting the lid. "If she wanted to know that, it seems prudent to bring the grimoire to Morrigan, whether she asked for it or not." Inside the chest is a bundle, wrapped up in cloth and tied with a purple ribbon. A small piece of parchment bears Morrigan's name, as though the bundle is meant for her. Savreen pauses, frozen. Next to the bundle is a book bound in cracked leather, the cover mostly plain. There's a faint crackling energy around it, something that sets her teeth on edge and raises the hair on her arms. She doesn't need to open this book to know it's Flemeth's grimoire. Why it's next to a bundle meant for Morrigan, though, she's not sure.
"Is it in there?" Tali asks, oblivious. Her voice startles Savreen, and she nearly drops the lid of the chest.
"Uh, yes—yes, it's here." Hurriedly, she grabs the book and, a heartbeat later, the bundle, too. "I think this is Morrigan's," she adds when Tali looks at her quizzically. The chest is empty, now, and it falls shut with a hollow noise.
"Are you alright?" Tali's question is gentle. The smell of smoke, and of meat, even inside the hut, is not. Savreen shakes her head no. She doesn't elaborate any further. There's no need—she knows that Tali knows. She sees the way that Tali, too, has avoided looking directly at Flemeth's corpse.
"You're right. Morrigan will be waiting for us. We should return."
Tali doesn't question it, not as they leave the hut, not as they begin picking their way back through the Wilds. She walks next to Savreen for a time, squeezes her hand comfortingly. But there's nothing either of them can say. Flemeth is dead, but questions still hang heavy over all of them, unrelenting. What did she know of fate? What did any of her words mean? And, louder than ever, what comes next?